


In Four Dimensions

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Double Penetration, Foursome, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Incest, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was easy to gloss over what they were doing when it was the end of the world. Where exactly do they go from here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Four Dimensions

Sam's asleep. He likes being asleep. He's warm and he's comfortable and he's not mad about changing that any time soon.

Which is why the sudden staccato vibration of someone's phone across the night table is so annoying. There's a heavy, irritating insistence to the noise that suggests the phone is Dean's. Only Dean's phone could ever be that obnoxious.

Sam makes a protesting noise, garbled and messy, that could be translated as 'not it' and then turns his head further into the hair he currently has his face pressed into. It's a soft mess of disarranged strands that smells like Castiel. He's planning to stay there until the phone stops, or falls on the floor and breaks. Thank you very much.

"Goddamn it," Dean complains, from what sounds like half-way inside a pillow and a foot away. "Someone shut that thing up."

A second later there's the rattling clank of someone reaching in the dark for technology and then something lands on bare skin with a thud - before vibrating again, much closer than before.

"Really not what I had in mind," Dean grumbles.

He gets a huff of shameless and unapologetic laughter in response, that's trademark Gabriel.

Sam grumbles general protest at the world into Castiel's cheek because he's way more awake than he was a moment ago and he's not at all happy about it.

There's the faint clack of a phone opening. The shifting, muttered complaint when Dean manages to get it somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth.

"M'lo?.........Hey Bobby."

Sam sighs and listens, but he's not close enough to hear Bobby's end of the conversation, just Dean's yawn and the quiet slide of sheets on skin.

"Yeah, we're good. I think - yeah."

The bed makes a noise when someone moves and Sam stretches his left leg and listens to it click, before twining it through Castiel's.

"We can do that. Just tell us where."

Sam breathes out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Something strangely easy. They have technically been on an overlong vacation. Putting the devil and his armies of darkness back in hell, and the righteous and persistent armies of heaven back upstairs takes a lot out of you. If anyone deserves a vacation - if anyone in the _whole world_ deserves a vacation. It's probably them. But they knew damn well that it was only a matter of time before the dust settled. Before things started creeping out of the woodwork. Things they didn't quite catch. That they missed when the fires went out. Things were never going to stay quiet for long, they knew enough to be sure of that.

But, Sam's surprisingly ok with that. He has an interesting perspective on things now.

"Yeah," Dean says quietly. "We'll be there. Thanks Bobby. You too."

The phone clicks and judging by the creak of mattress and the muted 'thud' Dean has just dropped it on the floor.

A minute after that it's all quiet again. Though Sam knows for a fact that everyone's awake now. It wasn't like they hadn't been expecting this. That they hadn't been waiting for it.

Sam wraps an arm round Castiel's bare waist. He's still a little surprised that he can do that, that he's _allowed_. Since, not so long ago he was fairly sure Castiel was his brother's one great, epic romance. They've fought over a lot of things in their life, but girls - and ok, apparently guys now - had never been one of them.

But then, they're not exactly fighting - and sharing is too simple a word for whatever it is they're doing. There's something about stopping an apocalypse together that could be considered a bonding experience. And Dean would bitch at him for using the word 'bonding' but he's damned if he can think of a better on. Because hell, they did some pretty messy things to accomplish what they did. Things they couldn't have done if they hadn't trusted each other. Things no one else is ever going to understand. Things that maybe left them in a weird mess. Human and angel twisted up together in impossible ways. Sam doesn't know what's going to happen when they eventually have to take a step back and _look_ at this. But what he _does_ know, is that this is as close to content as he's been for years.

"Stop thinking so hard," Dean complains, voice an irritated slur. "I swear I can hear your brain from over here."

"I actually _can_ hear his brain," Gabriel provides, and judging by the slow, messy drawl he's using Dean as a pillow. "It's like a lifetime movie, I'm genuinely touched."

"Stop listening to my brain," Sam says. Though the complaint manages to lack an ounce of heat. "I do very important and secret thinking in there."

Dean grunts like he disputes that fact.

The sheet moves when someone stretches a leg out, trails down Sam's waist in slow, distracting shifts. Like it's trying to tempt him into something.

"Bobby's got a hunt for us," Dean says quietly.

Sam grunts something that manages to give the impression he's listening without moving his head far enough to actually look at him. They all knew this was coming. They all knew they'd have to step back into their old lives eventually.

"It's not far, I figure it can wait a few hours."

The bed shifts under him again and Dean's arm joins Sam's curled round Castiel's waist. Castiel sighs softly. Like this was his plan all along and he's satisfied that laying very still and doing nothing has proven effective.

That might actually be true. Castiel's a lot craftier than he looks. Of course, Castiel's also an angel again. All shiny-bright and spilling over with righteous angel power.

So he doesn't need to sleep.

He doesn't need to do a lot of things.

Sam had originally thought that humanity and its occasional strange idiosyncrasies was addictive. But he's starting to think that this, the four of them sharing heat and skin and closeness is important enough that the long periods of inactivity just don't matter. He doesn't know what they do all night. Count the molecules in their bodies maybe, or have long and interesting angel discussions about the nature of the universe. Sam just knows that they're always there. Sam doesn't know if there's any sort of angelic equivalent, but they never bother to look like they're sleeping when they're on their own.

Sam knows he definitely sleeps though. Because the next thing he registers is the fact that he has an Archangel sprawled half over his chest and Castiel's arm is looped round Gabriel's waist from behind. Sam has no idea how they do that. He swears it just happens. Even Dean doesn't wake up when they move. Sam's chalking it up to their freakish angel powers.

Either way Gabriel is, as always, blazingly hot and Sam can't help throwing an arm round him and pulling just a little. Which gets him a huff of something that isn't protest and a complicated tangling of legs - he's fairly sure there's one of Castiel's there too, because two people do not have five legs between them.

It says something that he can so calmly think about there being three other people in bed with him. One of which is his brother. But then it's amazing what you can get used to when you live through an apocalypse. When you _survive_ an apocalypse.

He never expected to come out the other side like this though.

The next time he wakes up Gabriel and Castiel have switched places again. Like they're never entirely satisfied for long. Castiel's fingers are shifting on the edge of his knee, a drag-slide-press that stops and repeats slow and hypnotic.

The sheet moves again, like a constant referee in their bed wrestling match. Sam can hear Dean sigh with more than a touch of irritation.

"Gabriel, move."

"Why?"

Dean makes a rough noise of amusement.

"Because I'm going to get up and shower and I can't do that if you're sprawled the hell all over me."

There's a chuckle and a considering noise like Gabriel's thinking about it. Then a second of abrupt movement, chased by a gasp and a shaky, wet moan.

"You can come too," Dean says eventually, and then his voice breaks off for a sound that Sam knows well enough. All wet crush of mouth, soft, half-smothered breaths and a slithering rearrangement of limbs.

Enough to make sure Sam is most definitely awake.

Then bed shudders with the weight of two people leaving it, and it's barely a few seconds before the bathroom door shuts.

Sam would be more irritated about that if they hadn't already worked out that the shower only holds two people.

Instead he takes advantage of the extra space to slide a leg between Castiel's and push them apart, just a little. Castiel's hums quietly, a noise Sam knows well enough that he presses up out of the sheets and finds Castiel's mouth. Still soft and relaxed from all that 'pretending to be asleep.'

Castiel's already hard against the edge of his waist, a greedy shove-slide of skin that makes the kiss maybe a little messier than Sam intends.

It doesn't take long before Sam's as hard as him.

"Sam," Castiel says simply, and that tone is a million miles away from the one that once referred to him as an abomination.

"Cas," Sam tells him right back. Which gets him a smile, a half-smile. A Castiel smile that's somehow twice as much with half the obviousness.

He turns Castiel's smile into noise when he kicks the sheet down the bed and tips the angel's head back. Then opens his mouth on the warmth of Castiel's throat.

There's a low growl that's deep enough to slide through him in one hard vibration. Sam loves Castiel's voice, low and harsh and demanding. He loves the way he has a tendency to command, to push, to take what he wants. To be completely and shamelessly filthy without protest or even encouragement.

But tangled up in that he still feels like he comes from somewhere else completely. The way he still manages to react to every sensation like it unravels him completely. The way he sometimes treats them both like they're made of glass. And the fact that occasionally Castiel will slip and call him 'Samuel' and there's no way Sam's going to admit that he likes it.

He's all demand and greed, mixed with a strange sort of gentle reverence that Sam thinks will never, never stop killing him. It will never stop leaving him helpless to do anything but catch him and hold him and do anything Castiel wants.

Castiel's hand tangles in his hair, pushes him down with carefully controlled determination. Sam makes a noise, soft and agreeable, leaves a trail of warm breath down Castiel's abdomen. Until it flares over the weight at his groin. Then the hand in Sam's hair tightens, one quick expectant clench and Sam trails his tongue across the soft-hard length of him.

The way Castiel's breath draws in is familiar already, and yet Sam's still greedy for it. For the way the angel twitches and shifts under every curl of tongue, every flat slide and slow drag of lips. Like this is new, every time. Like Castiel is saving every sensation.

Sam waits for the slow tightening in Castiel's thighs when he slides back up to curl his tongue over the head. When it comes he moves back down. Tongue wet and slow against the delicate softness of Castiel's balls.

Castiel gasps and growls a protest at the flagrant teasing. Until Sam gently pushes his thighs apart and slides his tongue all the way down. Finds tightness and warmth and there are nails in his scalp and a sharp draw of breath.

He digs his fingers into Castiel's flexing thighs, tongue sliding over and then pushing just inside. Castiel makes a noise in his throat that's half-animal, thighs spreading, hips tilting and the incessant angry thud of Sam's own arousal is cranked up hard enough to hurt.

There's a tiny stutter of breath and one more fiercely demanding clench. There's a brief little spike of pain when Castiel's insistence turns into a tug, pulling Sam's wet mouth back where the angel needs it. Sam obediently opens him mouth and lets the gentle tilt of Castiel's hips take him inside. Sam groans, lets Castiel’s thighs slip over his shoulders and tries to take more, a wet slide that leaves pressure at the back of his throat and a constant thump in his groin.

He reaches up and Castiel's handing him a bottle without having to be asked, already uncapped and it's far too easy to slick up his fingers and work them inside the angel, bottle tumbling into the sheets when he dares to push them in quick and deep on every wet drag of his mouth. Finds just the right angle and speed to pull a strangled gasp out of Castiel's throat.

Castiel's thighs tense and then fall apart, leaving him open and relaxed and easy. A perfect and completely unselfconscious display of wantonness and Sam's fingers dig into this thighs, trying to press marks into that impossible skin. Trying to push down some of his own need, trying to quiet the heavy thump in his groin that demands he take everything. That he open Castiel up quickly and dirty, make him loose and wet and greedy. Before he wrecks him.

He's up to three fingers now and Castiel is already breathless, hips shifting, fingers digging and tangling in Sam's hair, over and over like he can't stop.

Sam's mouth is a wet mess of saliva and pre-come and it's shifting tight and hard on Castiel's cock. Slippery and steady and deep.

"Sam, Sam, please -" the words break, shatter apart when Sam pushes in hard. There's just breath and the quick, endless trembles that runs through Castiel. The way he's groaning in one long constant noise, getting lower and harder and Sam knows he's close. Pushes him all the way there, all the way over, feeling the clench around his fingers when Castiel comes in his mouth, on one stuttering slide.

Sam slides his mouth away, kisses the soft curve of Castiel's pelvis, gets a weak little twitching moan for it. Then he's shifting up the bed, Castiel's thighs opening and sliding round his waist. Castiel's easy and so relaxed that Sam's cock just slides all the way inside him, in one movement. He listens to the rush of stunned air and the groan that sounds too blissed-out to be real. Castiel spreads his legs wider, like it doesn’t ache at all. Like he doesn’t need any time to get used to the sensation. He digs his heel in Sam's back, demands the movement and the pressure and the weight of him.

"Harder," Castiel says. Voice sounding like darkness and filth and Sam's breathing out the angel's name as he braces himself on one arm and slams in hard enough to make his thighs ache.

It's too good and it's not going to last long. Can't last long, not with how demanding Castiel can be. All hard fingers and intensity, pushing back, making desperate little sounds that end in something close to a whine. Like he needs this.

"Sam." His voice is too low to be real and Sam is shaking and coming and gasping out words that catch in his throat and come out broken. Words that he means, every damn time. He's left listening to Castiel's soft little noises as Sam stutters and jerks and dies his way through orgasm.

Castiel's more than strong enough to take his weight afterwards. Legs relaxing either side of him when Sam slides out and groans into the curve of his throat.

Castiel's fingers slide across the damp skin of his back, then he shifts his thighs and rolls them. Leaving Sam panting on his back and the weight of Castiel in his lap.

The angel is wearing his unnecessarily serious expression, which he shouldn't be able to make work while he's naked. But it makes Sam catch the hard juts of his hips and pull him up, just a little.

"Stay," Castiel says simply. Though there's more than a hint of angelic command there. Castiel's insistence is a force to be reckoned with. Sam's gotten far too used to obeying that voice. But usually it's because something will eat him if he doesn't.

It's worryingly Pavlovian that Castiel seems to be reprogramming him.

Sam raises an eyebrow. He's about to ask why he has to stay put when he gets his answer. The bed shudders and an arm slides round Castiel's waist from behind.

"Cas." Dean slides in close, knees placed round Sam's thighs.

Castiel's eyes slide shut, head tipping to the side to give Dean as much room as he wants.

Gabriel sprawls untidily next to them all, expression full of sharp mischief. He looks tempted to put his hands all over everything. But then Sam thinks he kind of always looks a little bit like that.

"I thought we were supposed to be getting up?" Sam asks when Dean slips a hand down to coax the angel back past 'interested' and all the way into 'ready.'

Dean just looks up at him and grins, like the answer to that should be obvious. Before he pulls gently. Castiel's weight leaving him in a collection of indulgent and teasing slides.

Sam's lap isn't empty for long though. Gabriel's shifts a knee up and over, settles his weight where Sam really shouldn't be interested yet, but absolutely is. His waist is soft and far too easy to grab and pull and hold on to. Sam should know by now that smothering the Archangel's laughter with his mouth is almost impossible but he can't help trying.

  
~~~~~

  
One of the things Dean is not ashamed to admit is that there are some pretty sweet bonuses in having Gabriel around. Even before they all started sleeping together, and he got to know about all the other awesome bonuses in having an Archangel who'd learned every filthy trick the human body could perform in his bed.

The food. Dear God, the food is awesome. Having someone who can pretty much magic up whatever he wants, whenever he wants is like another sort of porn, a special food-porn. Seriously, Dean's not above showing his appreciation for the food, and he doesn't even care if that makes him a slut. Especially when Gabriel suggests combining the food with his appreciation. Which Dean's totally behind.

If he ever stops killing things for a living he's going to gain 200 pounds.

So when he stumbles out of the bathroom and discovers the whole room smells like pancakes he makes a low, greedy sound of bliss and follows the smell all the way to the small table. Then drops himself into it.

Sam's already hiding behind the internet, Gabriel is digging his fingers into everything and Castiel is quietly absorbing everything like a visitor from space. Considering the pretty damn human noises they spent last night - and this morning - dragging out of him it's amazing the way he can just throw that 'I am quietly interested but not emotionally involved' face back on. Especially when Gabriel's face is so ludicrously expressive.

Still, breakfast is currently more important than who's emoting over the table. So Dean fills his mouth without stopping to breathe. He gets the feeling Sam's laughing at the noises he's making, but then that's not exactly new. He can't be expected to have coherent thoughts while he's starving to death though.

When he looks up again Gabriel's artistically constructing a pancake tower, with fruit windows and cream pillars.

Sam steals a window when he's not looking.

Castiel is still sat staring at the blank space in front of him. He's still not exactly down with the whole 'food is delicious' idea. But he still makes that peeved, left-out face whenever they end up stuffing their faces around him. He has been known to make exceptions though. Like whenever Dean takes matters into his own hands. Though the last time he did that Castiel ended up with cream all down his throat and the kitchen in an unholy mess.

Literally.

"Dude, are you ever not going to make porn noises at breakfast?" Sam says. It's more amusement than disapproval. Which is good. Sam disapproves a lot less than he used to. But still, if he stopped doing it completely Dean would have to cry pod person and knock him out, pretty much on principle. Gabriel would probably help. Dean thinks Gabriel secretly likes Sam's disapproval.

Dean chews just enough that he can make words.

"There's always awesome breakfast. Awesome breakfast which deserves porn noises."

Gabriel makes a satisfied noise across the table, always willing to admit to his shameless bribery. Not that the bribery's necessary any more. Dean still appreciates it though, he really appreciates it.

"We can't expect Gabriel to make breakfast for us all the time," Sam says suddenly.

Dean pauses in the act of eviscerating foodstuffs.

"Why not?"

"We should take it in turns," Sam says. Like he's suddenly the boy scout of democracy town.

Dean tries to convey the badness of this with a mouth full of delicious goodness. It comes out like some sort of sad animal noise which he should probably be ashamed of.

"He's an Archangel," Dean's forced to point out.

"Which is exactly my point, we shouldn’t be abusing his powers for delicious pancakes." Sam manages to make 'delicious pancakes sound like some sort of terrible crime.

Gabriel makes a noise and stops eating maple syrup off of his thumb.

"No, by all means, abuse my powers for delicious pancakes, then thank me in adventurous ways while still ever so slightly sticky."

Dean gestures with his fork at Gabriel.

"See, I'm totally behind that!"

Sam's wearing his 'sensible adult' face now. Like they're having a family meeting or something. It'd be just like Sam to spring a family meeting on them unexpectedly. Sam's crafty like that.

"We shouldn’t get used to -"

Sam gestures like he's lost the rest of the sentence. But Dean knows exactly what he was going to say 'we shouldn’t get used to getting whatever we want.' But Dean figures, what the hell, maybe they should get used to exactly that. They're overdue after all. It's not like Gabriel minds. Angel-ing stuff up is probably easier than reminding himself not to do it.

Sam sighs.

"Wow," Dean says. "You really are the sensible adult in this relationship."

They all look at Castiel who's prodding the pancake Dean stealth-added to his plate with a sort of dubious mistrust.

"To be fair this relationship probably needs a sensible adult," Gabriel offers.

Sam grits his teeth and mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely blasphemous considering.

"Just - we should take turns doing stuff. Just because we're..."

"Banging angels," Gabriel offers, in that subtle and tactful way he has.

Sam sighs.

"God, I really am the sensible adult in this relationship."

He pulls a hand down his face.

"Look, can we just try?"

Gabriel's making eyebrows at his brother which mean 'do you really want to go there?' Sam should know by now that those eyebrows never lead anywhere good.

Though they can occasionally be distracted with nudity.

"It's fair," Sam adds. Like that somehow makes it better. Like he isn't digging himself a hole. Gabriel's quit using the eyebrows. Now he's using that amused curl of mouth that's the 'you realise now you've dug the hole that I have to push you in it, right?'

Gabriel shifts his boots under the table with a rubbery squeak.

"Fine, next time, little bro can make breakfast and you can cry over the burnt remains of something that used to be a pig."

Castiel cuts Gabriel such a dirty look that Dean nearly chokes on what he's eating.

Maybe their angel's learning after all?

"I am perfectly capable of making breakfast," Castiel provides grimly.

"Though whether it would be edible," Gabriel counters.

The angels glare at each other while Dean steals the last of the pancakes and Sam finishes his delicious and brightly coloured fruit thing which is horribly lacking in tasty syrup.

Dean's tempted to accuse him of ruining breakfast for everyone. But he holds his tongue, hell maybe Castiel wants to make them pancakes too, what does he know.

  
~~~~~

  
Sam and Castiel are still loading the car when Dean does a final check of the room.

Gabriel's sitting on one of the beds, pushed apart now and looking all the more weirdly out of place for it. Gabriel disapproves of heavy lifting, or lifting, or just generally moving things. He claimed it stemmed from a traumatic childhood experience when Sam asked. Leading to much confused staring from Castiel. Dean kind of likes the way Castiel stares at Gabriel sometimes, like he can never understand where all his bullshit comes from, or why he uses it.

Yeah, that's one of the things Gabriel and Dean actually have in common.

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets.

"So, we got what looks like a ghost at a hotel, nothing too heavy. We've done ghosts a thousand times."

"We could come," Gabriel says casually, far too casually.

"We're not the only people that have been putting off stuff," Dean says flatly.

Gabriel goes very still. Then he shrugs, gives one careful jerk of his head. Like they're pretending he hadn't thought about it at all. Dean doesn’t blame him. He knows Gabriel is in no rush to go back to heaven. He knows there are only a few Archangels left, and apparently putting Lucifer in hell twice hasn't exactly left Michael in a good place. Dean thinks maybe Gabriel's afraid it will be too much, or maybe not enough. Or maybe that the bastards will make him stay.

Hell, Dean doesn't know what Gabriel's afraid of. But he knows he's been stalling just as much as they have. this is the perfect opportunity to sort their shit out. If they're going to do this. If they're going to keep doing this, it won't be to avoid anything else.

Dean knows Gabriel's head is a huge complicated mess, that he's probably never going to understand. But, like it or not, Sam and him are part of that mess now. And he thinks maybe he's the only one willing to risk the angelic fury by opening his mouth and saying something.

"You have to go back and you know it."

The look Gabriel throws him is somewhere between hurt and angry.

"You know Sam won't say anything, even if he thinks it's the right thing to do. Hell, we're all so damn protective it's almost a mental illness for us. But we've all got our own shit to deal with, and yours is pretty much all past due ."

Gabriel's mouth twists into something Dean can't quite work out. But he doesn't protest.

"And you know Cas won't leave without you."

Gabriel sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Normally I like his wide-eyed obedient streak."

"I think they're long past making you do things you don't want to do Gabriel."

Gabriel taps his boots together and Dean has to wonder exactly how much of his fidgeting is fake and how much of it's real.

"I don't particularly _want_ to go back." It's a brief, pointed flare of honesty with history behind it. Because, yeah, the apocalypse left them all with scars that are still bleeding a little. Scars they don't compare. But they're all aware they're there. They've pressed up against enough of them in the middle of the night.

Some of Dean's are even on his skin.

Gabriel shoots him a second unreadable look.

"You never know, Dean, give the world five minutes to make sense and you might decide you're fine on your own."

Dean glares at him.

"You really think that?"

Gabriel shrugs.

"You can get away with some stupendously crazy shit when you have Armageddon hanging over your head," he says flatly.

Dean grits his teeth, stops himself from snapping something back. Stops himself from fighting because it's not just him. It's all of them, it's every one of them that's feeling the edge. Where something's going to change.

He snatches his coat off the bed, leans in far enough to grab Gabriel's shirt and hauls him forward in a mess of rucked up sheets.

He kisses him and there's nothing nice about it. It's all barely restrained desperation and angry frustration. Then Dean lets him go, jabs him in the chest with a finger.

"You better fucking come back," he says. And if he sounds furious against Gabriel's mouth then so be it.

When he goes to move back he finds Gabriel's sharp fingers in his hair.

"Be careful what you ask for."

"Like I don't know what an exhausting little bitch you are already," Dean huffs, and gets a messy little bark of laughter for it.

He shakes Gabriel's hand off and pretends he doesn’t instantly miss it.

"Now, go tell Sam you'll miss him forever so he can cry about it or they'll charge us for another day."

Gabriel snorts and raises a hand, disappears in one lazy snap.

Dean blows out a breath and pulls a hand down his face and sits down on the bed. He doesn’t exactly know why he's always forced to skirt that line of 'fucking himself over.' Maybe he's been doing it so long it's like second nature now. He should stop. It's a bad habit. It's one of the bad habits he needs to break.

It takes Castiel another minute and a half to appear back in the room. Dean hasn't moved, doesn’t move until Castiel reaches out, lays a hand on his shoulder.

"Gabriel tells me he's ready."

Dean grunts agreement, because it's either that or some form of goodbye. Hell, if he's saying goodbye.

Castiel smiles at him, a faint curve of mouth that Dean hasn't developed an immunity too yet, and maybe hopes he never does. Because that expression always makes him feel like he's done something awesome.

He'd quite like to know what he did to put it there this time. Because today feels pretty crappy to him. He lets his head tip forward and rests it against Castiel’s stomach, warm through the shirt and Dean's briefly tempted to shove all that irritating white cotton out of the way and press his face into skin.

Instead he tugs on the shirt, pulls until Castiel is low enough to breathe into.

He kisses him for as long as he can get away with. Then lets him go.

"Dean -"

He tightens his fingers.

"Don't stay away too long, ok, and check your damn messages."

He feels the soft, slow tilt and shift of Castiel nodding.

Then the weight is gone and his fingers are slipping free. Before the dry rip of feathers fills the room - and leaves it completely empty.

There's a sudden, bright thread of panic that claws up Dean's throat. He holds it until it eases, until he can breathe again.

They'd fought so fucking hard not to get separated, for months and months. To keep each other no matter what. Since the end, and longer. They've been close enough to pretty much be sharing body heat for weeks now.

And now suddenly there's nothing.

He stands there, feeling weirdly adrift. Trying to kid himself into thinking he can still feel them, both of them, vast and cold and electric, names carved under the skin too deep to scrub out.

It doesn't exactly help. It's like an ache half way between reassuring and unbearable.

  
~~~~~

  
The car feels empty.

Every time Dean looks in the mirror, the backseat stares back, almost accusing in its emptiness, and he has to wonder why he isn't worrying about where Castiel and Gabriel are. About who has them.

But then no one has them. They're upstairs, which isn't the fucked up nest of angel bastards it used to be.

The Winchesters are officially heroes under a 'keep your fucking hands off of them' decree that's carved into the angel equivalent of holy tablets. Thanks to the fact that they defeated the armies of heaven and hell. The fucking armies of heaven and hell.

Yeah, Dean's still not sure how they did that.

Thanks to the fact that they sided with them Gabriel and Castiel can do whatever the fuck they like, even if they do still _technically_ have angel duties. Though in Gabriel's case they're a few thousand years overdue. It all sounds so good. But Dean still feels like he should be somewhere punching something to get his angels back. It's like post-traumatic stress disorder and phantom limb syndrome at the same time.

Dean's fairly sure Sam's noticed, that he's feeling exactly the same way, because he's been sitting perfectly still in the passenger seat with that same uncomfortable look on his face since they left the motel.

He also knows Sam's going to break the silence before him.

"We have been kind of living in each other's pockets for months," Sam says quietly. "It's understandable that it'd take us a while to get used to not being together all the time. That it'd feel -"

"Like your skin is going to vibrate off?" Dean says sharply.

Sam drops his head back in the passenger seat.

"Yeah, something like that."

The car eats up the miles and the silence hangs there like a constant reminder that they're short two people. Phrasing it like that makes something jerk in his chest. He tells his body to shut the fuck up, because they're not dead.

"It's too quiet," Dean mutters. Because not talking is suddenly worse.

Sam sighs like he's been thinking exactly the same thing

"That's because Gabriel's always talking, and your tapes got eaten by that thing that lived in the well."

"Well that didn't matter when Gabriel made the radio actually play something I wanted to listen to."

Sam's legs shift, like he can't get comfortable, can't stop fidgeting, can't stop moving, all confused adrenaline.

"I told you we shouldn’t take them for granted. You protested it was just breakfast."

"Alright, fine, we'll let Cas cook something next time. Though you realise then we'll actually have to eat it so his feelings won't be hurt."

"He's a warrior of God, I'm sure he won't take the success or failure of breakfast too hard."

There's another silence.

Dean fidgets with the radio but it only offers up static, and the half-audible, droning voices from local stations. Talking about things he's not interested in. The thing flatly refuses to help distract him from his restless misery.

"How long do you think they'll be gone," Sam says stiffly.

"I don't know."

"You think they'll tell us if it's going to be a while."

"I don't know," Dean says again, harder than before.

But, God, he hopes so. Any other day he'd take the piss out of Sam something fierce for being such a girl. But this is too close, Castiel and Gabriel. At the beginning there'd been a line, there'd been a separation there. But that had been smeared out weeks ago. They lost it somewhere in a huge bed with Gabriel leaking angel all over the sheets and all of them trying their damnedest to hold him together. That was when they stopped doing it for the magic, when it wasn't about bonding or rituals to save the world. Or any of that other crap. That had been the moment when they decided it was all of them.

Or maybe they hadn't decided, maybe it had just happened.

It had definitely been when they started shoving both beds together. The night Gabriel nearly died. And they were all so fucked up and messy in love with each other already, it was like the whole damn world was ending all over again.

Dean hadn't even known it at the time.

"There's still stuff to be done," Sam says quietly. His fingers are pressing and shifting on the window. "There are still stragglers from the apocalypse and I feel like hunting them down is a good thing. That it's doing the job right."

Sam clears his throat.

"It's like them, we have things we're good at. People we need to see. While we - not work things out, just y'know pass the time. While they're gone."

Dean's squeezing the wheel again because God, Sam sounds for all the world like he's wading his way through the first stage of grief and _fuck_

Sam makes a noise like he hasn't heard the squeak of Dean's tightening fingers.

"Our lives aren't exactly normal, I mean what do we do apart from hunt monsters. We don't do anything. We have like one special skill and when we're not doing that we're eating crappy diner food and talking about where we're going next. The apocalypse kind of made everything life or death and y'know, stuff happens when there's that much adrenaline."

Sam shifts and looks at Dean, strange and sort of desperate, like he thinks maybe Dean has all the answers.

"I know this is the right thing to so, that they have things to do and they need to do them. There's no apocalypse any more so it's not like they need to be with us all the time."

Sam's fingers are tapping out some strange rhythm now, discordant and annoying.

"We can't expect to understand the angel part of their lives. Maybe they need something we can't give them, something that's complicated. Something they can't do with us, when they're inside vessels."

There's a long, taut moment of silence.

"Dean?"

Dean tries to think of something to say which isn't 'shut up, Sam.'

"Dean? What do you think?"

"I think I'd feel a lot freakin' better if you weren't reeling off all the different ways they were going to leave us," Dean says through his teeth. Because, Jesus, he's got a headache starting right behind his eyeballs now. One of those vicious bastards that's half stress and half too much sleep. It's not his fault he's had _incentives_ to not get up lately. He should have known better than to think his body wasn't going to bitch at him for it.

He was doing fine as an insomniac alcoholic and now his body's loudly protesting that it doesn’t know how to hunt things when it's full of delicious pancakes and still kind of loose and half blissed out from having sex twice this morning.

Sam's gone quiet now, forehead all messed up with angst that Dean hasn't seen since the last time Lucifer showed up like a pestilent gatecrasher at a birthday party.

He sighs and squeezes the wheel, squeezes it hard enough to make his knuckles hurt.

"You think I'm not thinking exactly the same thing. For fuck's sake Sam, I don't even know how we ended up with the both of them, ok. I don't know why they apparently think we're worth a permanent vacation. you think I haven't taken a good hard look at what our lives are like. Even if heaven's a bust they have a million other places they could be. You think I haven't forced myself to wonder what the hell we're all doing. How this can ever actually work in the real world. My longest relationship was like two weeks and you - I'm fairly sure you never even looked at a guy before the apocalypse."

Sam grunts out something that wants to be protesting. But Dean knows better.

"Suddenly we're playing tag team with two male angels and we've saved the world and now we have to get on with the whole 'living in the world we saved' thing. It's like coming out the world's worst bad trip. Only, I don't know how to do it. This isn't moving the posts, this is - I don't freakin' know - someone coming and stealing the posts and sticking them in a wood chipper so there are no posts. And I'm aware I just fucked up that analogy. But I don't have a clue what we're doing. And I'm scared to death that they won't come back."

Dean hits the breaks, hard enough that the car slams to a stop, then he leans back in the seat and swears, one, twice, three times. Can't bring up any more air to talk with.

"Yeah," Sam says quietly. "That's pretty much what I was going for too."

"Not to mention the fact that we're pretty far over the line of 'acceptable touching' now too," Dean adds. Because one of them has to say it.

"You slept with twins once," Sam says in slow measured tones. "I figure it's a lot like that."

"So, what? It's acceptable as long as it's hot incest with other people around?"

"I do not think you're hot," Sam says, in a purposeful sort of way.

"Liar," Dean protests. Because seriously, he's the hot brother, he's always been the hot brother. Sam's the tall gangly one with the dorky smile and the silly hair that filled out ok.

Sam frowns at him.

"I'm not lying, you have a weird face, freckles and stuff - and your legs are weird."

"You're just reaching now," Dean says and starts the car again. "So, have we shared enough now? Can we go back to killing things and repressing our feelings like Winchesters." Because there's only so much Dean can talk about his feelings before he starts to feel the terrible urge to punch something or get very drunk.

Sam looks at him.

"If you start drinking again we're talking about our feelings again."

"Fine, you bitch."

"Jerk."

  
~~~~~

  
The one good thing about the apocalypse. Both of them have better defences than they used to. More tattoos, more stray jewellery and angelic script carved all the way down to the bone.

They've gotten used to punching above their weight.

The ghost in the hotel is an angry one, broken furniture, smashed windows, blood through the ceiling.

Dean fully expects one of them to get tossed into a wall.

But it goes down quick and easy, barely even hampers their efforts to dig its bones out of an air shaft.

  
~~~~~

  
Bobby sends them after a bunch of vampires holed up under a bar after that.

It's messy and it's something like what Dean thinks he needs, all grit and adrenaline. But it's over quick and they both come out without a bruise. Dirty as hell, hearts pounding, blood everywhere.

They order pizza and it tastes maybe half as good as the pizza Dean's gotten used to.

He eats two thirds of one anyway and then feels disgusting for the rest of the night.

He catches Sam looking at him. If he even thinks about giving him one of his own 'the pizza isn't love' speeches he's going to punch him in the freakin' kidney.

They stay in town for a while to make sure they've gotten them all.

Dean sleeps maybe two hours the next few nights, nearly gets hypnotised by the neon sign flashing outside. He has one of the twin beds all to himself and it feels like he's being punished for something.

~~~~~~

Sam's just as sick of the single beds as Dean.

He's not hiding it any better, he's just quieter about it. Though it's not like Sam hasn't noticed him getting up at four in the morning to go clean guns like some sort of focused and demented psychopath.

Still he's not drinking. Which is something.

Sam has a thousand words of reassurance. Because they're coming back, he knows they're coming back. But he can't get a single one of them past his teeth.

They're spending as little time in their room as they can. They hang around after hunts, eat at diners as late as they can manage. But tonight the battery on Sam's laptop is an hour dead and Dean's been shoving the same half a piece of pie around on his plate for twenty minutes. Which, if nothing else, is a sign of another impending apocalypse.

Sam decides that's enough for today, they can find something to do, even if it's watch shitty movies all night.

"Come on." He digs in his pocket and tosses money down on the table.

Dean just grunts and shoves the plate away, slides out of the booth.

The car ride is quiet and tense. Sam swears the vague air of misery in the car is thick enough to touch. Every shift of his boots makes Dean twitch in accusation.

Sam's happy when he can get out, breathe, dig in his pocket for the keys.

He pushes the door, coat half off before he realises that the room isn't empty.

Castiel is sat primly on the closest bed, trench coat as neat and perfect as it always is. Gabriel is leant back again the wall, boots crossed at the ankles.

Sam hears the heavy thud of Dean's bag hitting the floor behind him. He doesn't even bother to drop his coat. He lets it stay halfway down his arms when he catches either side of Gabriel's face, shoves him against the wall, and kisses him.

There are fingers tight enough in his shirt for the material to tear, the hard dig of knuckles into his ribs and the hushed repetition of his name, over and over. Every time there's space enough to let it out.

When someone tugs at his coat Sam lets Gabriel go long enough to feel it stripped from his arms. Before he's holding him again, one hand clenched tight in the hair at the back of his neck the other ripping every single button off the angel's shirt. Because he can fix it later and it's more important that he be _touching_ him already. That he have his palms flat against the heat of Gabriel's skin. Gabriel's not objecting, he's pushing into every gesture, letting Sam strip him in greedy and barely efficient movements.

Fingers slide round his waist from behind, drag his belt out of its loops and unbuckle it before tugging it away completely. It hits the floor with a 'clank' closely followed by the wet thud of boots. Which means that the hands sliding through Sam's hair are Castiel's.

"Cas," Sam manages into Gabriel's mouth. Gabriel grunts agreement and Castiel hums something soft against the curve of his ear. Reassurance, that Sam didn't even know he needed. Everything smeared out under the solid stab of relief and the taste of Gabriel's mouth and the slide and press of Castiel's fingers.

Before there's a heavy scrape of sound and Castiel's hands are gone. Judging by the way cloth tears and then the bed creaks sharply, Dean's taking matters into his own hands where the other angel's concerned.

Sam's hands have lost all ability to be careful, dragging Gabriel's shirt free in _pieces_ and Gabriel's making rough, agreeable noises that sound like surprise. Like no one's ever wanted him this much before. No one but them.

Sam's leaving buttons and torn cotton on the floor. Until he can't take it any more and he just catches Gabriel's waist and hauls him up, feels the tight slither and catch of legs round his waist and the brace of the wall where his hand is still buried in Gabriel's hair.

Sam pins him there, in one rough shove, that puts near-painful pressure on the hard line of his dick. Sharp and torturous and so good and Gabriel shoves back in turn. Just as hard as he is. Sam pretty much gets stuck there, on that desperate edge of need, grinding in and panting against the rough, wet edge of Gabriel's mouth.

The Archangel's laughing now, breathless and warm, boots heavy and tight at the loosened edge of Sam's jeans.

"Sam, Gabriel." Dean's voice is all vibrating lust and impatience. Until it cuts off - and when Sam looks over he finds his brother gasping under the push of Castiel's hands and the furious crush of his mouth.

Sam's not sure how he makes it to the bed. Or how he loses his boots, socks and jeans. It's a jumbled mess of fingers and skin and the taste of angel on his tongue, one, or both. Dean too, greedy and impatient and overwhelmed. Not caring at all when his brother's close enough to catch hold of.

Sam ends up stripping Castiel's shirt off his arms one minute and dragging Dean's t-shirt up his arms the next. It's just a mess that leaves his heart pounding and his dick a solid line of needy hurt. Until he ends up with Gabriel shoved into his chest, all shameless naked warmth and he tries to drown himself in the taste of his mouth.

Dean's arms slides round Gabriel's waist from the other side, Castiel’s fingertips skating across his waist every time they press together.

This is them, this is fact. Sam doesn't care what else happens, he's keeping this. He's going to bleed to keep this.

The kiss is hard, it's furious, and Sam knows he's going to be tasting blood if it carries on like this. He needs everything and he needs it now, fuck, _right now._

And then someone's pressing a bottle into his hand and he's uncapping it and coating his fingers and dropping it in the sheets in one movement.

The noise Gabriel makes when Sam slides his fingers inside him. A low unsteady moan that barely sounds human, like he'd been waiting for exactly that for four days. Dean's fingers catch in Gabriel's hair, tight judging by the way Gabriel's eyes drift shut. Not unwelcome by the way he lets Dean pull his head back. Sam wasn't the only one taking advantage of the bottle of oil in the sheets, because Dean's fingers are slip-sliding against Sam's where they push in. Gliding over his knuckles and the tight pull of skin.

Dean can't seem to help himself. Can't wait, because he's sliding his fingers into Gabriel too, one slippery wet stretch around them both.

Gabriel makes a hard noise, strangled and gloriously obscene. Then digs his fingers into Sam's shoulder. His hips are caught halfway between shoving forward and shoving back. They settle for a long shuddery grind that manages to keep them both inside him.

Sam lets his fingers slide against and alongside Dean's, one rough, slick push after another, pressed together inside Gabriel. Who's murmuring encouragement, a sharp slur of words. He's demanding, Gabriel's always so demanding. Like he wants to give them so much it might just destroy them all. He's trembling and growling in his chest like they're teasing him on purpose.

Castiel is plastered against Dean's back, hand sliding and catching in his hair while he watches the rock and grind of Gabriel letting them both prepare him.

"Down," Gabriel says finally, voice a mess of want and impatience. "Want you both to fuck me, can't do it like this."

Sam swears through his teeth and Dean gives a shaky little moan like that's the best idea he's ever heard. It's so good neither of them move for a moment, just cling there, fingers still pushing, Sam's mouth still shoved up against Gabriel's every time he turns it into him.

"Cas." Dean's voice is low and thick. Because there are four, always four.

"Do it," Castiel says breathlessly. His voice is just a messy roll of roughness and need. Like they've ruined him completely.

Sam ends up on his back, Gabriel's knees spread round his waist. Digging in, tight little pinches of pain which just make everything more real.

He sucks a breath when a slippery hand runs over his cock, twice, quick and jerky - Dean. Before Gabriel is sliding up and then back and Sam slip-shoves all the way inside in one movement.

It's sensation like a knife, sharp and precise and almost lethal.

Gabriel folds into him on one shaky groan, until he has his mouth open over Sam's, indulging in quick, hot little stabs of tongue that are trying to melt Sam's brain. Before sliding away to drag sharp teeth across his chin and God - God, too much, always too much. He's barely holding on, everything intense and desperate.

Sam has the whole expanse of Gabriel's back within reach and he can't help spreading his hands there, fingers digging in too hard while he groans through the restless little twitches of his hips. Halfway between begging him to stop, to wait, or taking everything Gabriel can give.

"Dean," Gabriel says, quick and demanding.

Dean doesn’t wait, can't wait judging by the sharp rush of his breath. His hand flattens on the warmth of Gabriel's back, fingers curling over Sam's. One careful nudge at Gabriel's thigh and then Sam can feel the solid shove of him, all tightness and pressure where Sam's already buried. Gabriel's mouth opens on Sam's throat and he bites down hard when Dean slides in too, tight and vicious against his own dick.

Sam has to catch Gabriel's waist and hold him still.

Gabriel's making soft, little whimpery noises which Sam knows for a fact are neither pain nor protest. He knows if he were to tip the Archangel's head up and shove hair out of his face he'd find his eyes blown to hell, mouth wide and wet. Gabriel likes to get lost completely.

Gabriel moves, one slow sliding shove that makes Sam gasp and dig his nails in. Dean jerks up and in on reflex.

"Fuck, Gabriel."

Gabriel shudders and goes still when they slide in all the way, one steady rock together and everything is too tight and too much and Gabriel always looks so fucking fragile when he does this. Like they're going to _break_ him. Sam should know by now that they won't, that they can't. But it never stops him trying to hold onto him anyway.

Sam can feel Castiel's hands, trailing from Dean's waist to Gabriel's, fingertips brushing the hard points of his hips on every slide. Like he's trying to hold them all at the same time. Too distracted by the push and shift of flesh.

Sam looks up and catches the angel's eyes over Dean's shoulder. They're that wet, inhuman shade of blue. Sharp with lust. Like if there was any possible way for Gabriel to take him too it would already be happening. God, Sam can't think that, can't, can't - Jesus Christ - and Gabriel shudders and moans like he can see it inside his head. There's a breath of laughter and arousal into the plane of his cheek and then Gabriel's dragging his head round and kissing him, kissing him like he never wants to stop. All anger and need and desperate, possessive want.

Castiel's making soft noises, noises that make Sam dig his fingers into Gabriel's back and Dean give one short, tight shove that leaves Gabriel's mouth wide open.

Sam suspects Castiel already has his fingers inside Dean. He knows the sounds his brother makes when he's opened up, when he wants it. Those deep, hard little breaths that shake and demand.

Gabriel distracts him with a sharp dig of fingers and a near-brutal shove down. Like he thinks nothing, nothing at all, of pushing them both to the edge.

Until Dean's hand curves round Gabriel's shoulder, presses him down into Sam's chest. Presses him down and holds him there. Then Dean makes a noise that sounds ripped out of him. Rough with hunger and edged with discomfort. It comes with a steady increase of weight and pressure.

Sam knows without looking that Castiel is inside his brother. Leaving a messy, but complete connection between then all. He'd thought at the beginning that this was the sort of thing that could kill you. But he's learned since then that it's just enough, just enough to come out the other side alive.

Sam has his hands tight on Gabriel's hips, fingers pressing into the curving edge of Dean's waist on every steady push. It's messy and awkward and hot and Sam can barely breathe through the weight of it. Of what they've become, without ever meaning to. There's barely any room to move, to push in or up and yet he can feel the slow pull that tells him it doesn’t matter, that the unsteady grind and shove is going to be enough. Everything is heavier now. Dean's every exhale is messy and the tight catch of his fingers in Gabriel's hair drags him away from Sam's mouth, every time he slams in as hard as he can.

Gabriel's skin is burning, eyes bright, every kiss edged with the sharpness of teeth and the low whine of greedy impatience. It can't last. They're always too much together. Always an inch away from burning up. He's barely thought it before Gabriel is all tension and quick, ragged shoves. Pulling Sam's head back with sharp fingers so he can groan against the curve of his throat, and fall to a stop in one bright clench of obscene tightness and shivery bliss.

Sam can't breathe.

He stops trying, lets it all shake out when he comes, spilling warmth, and Dean makes a loose noise of shock and then stills.

There's a long pause, filled with wet, rough breathing and twitches of pleasure.

Before Dean's sliding free, sliding back into Castiel grip, still aggressively greedy. He falls to his hands, braces one on Sam's thigh, mouth open, body shaking with every shove, careful becoming quick and unsteady. Until Castiel breaks too, in one long breathless noise that sounds like worship.

Dean collapses completely, Castiel sliding down after him with absolutely none of the angelic grace Sam knows he's capable of.

Dean breathes low, shaky swearwords into the bed, one arm flung over Sam's leg. He makes no move to push Castiel off, though he does make a grumbling, complaining noise just for appearances sake.

Gabriel's just weight on Sam's chest, sticky and too hot. Sam throws an arm around him anyway, listens to the vibration when he laughs. When he slides a hand up into Sam's hair and holds it tight enough to hurt. Pulls his head down, and the kiss he gives him is slow and wet and lazy-hot.

  
~~~~~

  
Dean's brain won't shut up. Even though his body has hit that brick wall of bliss and crashed, his brain is still turning over inside his skull. One messy twist after another.

Castiel is solid warmth against his arm, silent and still, but real enough. The weight of his hand is laid on Dean's stomach, fingers curled slightly like they want to hold on.

Gabriel's pressed in behind the other angel, Dean can feel his leg under Castiel's

Sam's half sprawled over Gabriel's back, one arm curled round his waist like he thinks someone might try and take him away while he's sleeping

Dean wonders if he sleeps like that. Decides he probably does.

This is how the bed's supposed to be. Warm, crowded, unique in its strange human/angel smell, overlaid with the faint but really freakin' pervasive trace of candy.

It's everything it should be, but his body's only letting him sleep in snatches. It's like his brain is afraid if he closes his eyes for five minute it'll all disappear. All his attempts to tell it to chill the fuck out are completely useless. His subconscious is too well trained. Bastard thing.

He lifts a hand, finds the loose warmth of Castiel's fingers. He doesn't even mean to. It's like he's just checking, just making sure. But they curl and close around his own, a slow, steady tangle.

God, it feels like forever since there was anyone Dean could just _touch_. You don't get that casual familiarity when you don't trust anyone, when your whole life is moving around and killing things. Because the people they save are like - fuck - they're almost like a different species sometimes. He knows how messed up that is. But when they're screaming and clinging and shaking their heads like they still don't _believe_ , friends and family members torn open in front of them and they still don't quite believe what they're seeing. It's like they're a million miles away and always will be.

Dean had figured that he'd never get to have this. He'd never really get anyone he could just - touch. This is maybe the first time it's occurred to him that he can. That he can touch whenever he wants to. Any time he wants to, any time he needs to.

So, yeah, four days sleeping on his own again after he'd just managed to accept that maybe he could have that. That hadn't exactly been good on his nerves.

Castiel shifts, like maybe he can feel Dean's tension, or perhaps he's reading his mind. There's a rasp of beard, that never gets any longer and never gets a shave, against his shoulder.

"Dean?"

Dean hushes him quiet, before that sleepy voice becomes something low and demanding. He buries the fingers of his other hand in Castiel's mad hair, lets them drift through it. It's an indulgence he's getting far too used to. But some things, once you're allowed, you just can't stop.

He knows Gabriel and Castiel, if they're paying attention both already know he's awake. But Dean also knows that it's important you deal with your own crap.

There's a murmur from across the bed, something quiet and sleepy and it takes Dean a second to realise that Sam's dreaming. Castiel makes a very soft noise of amusement and Gabriel shifts away, leg sliding off of Dean's. The bed creaks and then Sam settles again with a very quiet sigh.

Dean snorts into the darkness, because at least someone is managing to block out their own subconscious.

"Go to sleep," Castiel says quietly, and it's a rumble of command against his skin.

Dean's getting far too used to doing what that voice tells him to.

  
~~~~~

  
The road's almost empty this early in the morning. Dean has the window open, the music playing on half volume. Sam's a long stretch of limbs in the passenger seat, all lazy sway and half-smile.

Castiel's in the back, against the window. Gabriel's managed to slither round, legs balanced on the door, head in Castiel's lap.

Dean's not even going to complain about the boots on the door. He's just relieved to have everyone back where they're supposed to be.

They're a pair of girls, it's official. Dean's blaming both the angels in the backseat for his downfall.

"So, what happened upstairs?" he asks, when the motel isn't even a dot behind them.

Gabriel huffs amusement.

"They were more welcoming that we anticipated," Castiel says quietly.

"Understatement bro," Gabriel says through a laugh. "It's a fucking mess up there, too full of snot-nosed youngsters who've never had an original thought in their lives. And all the angels capable of making decisions on their own are now refusing to do exactly that since it led to an apocalypse and the biggest massacre of angels since the original war in heaven. It's like a shitstorm of performance anxiety."

"What about Michael."

"Michael's pretty much locked himself in his room so he can listen to angsty music," Gabriel grumbles.

"He is unwilling to take charge at present," Castiel says.

Gabriel makes a rude noise up at him. Like he disapproves of Castiel's bland translations of his poetic descriptions.

"He doesn't know how to take charge. He's fine when he's reading from a script. This is post-apocalypse for him. It's all blank pages. Adding in the fact he had to smack the crap out of his little brother, again - well you can see why he's not exactly the go-to guy at the moment."

Yeah, Dean's not exactly going to feel guilty about that.

"To be fair, I've had more than enough of my brothers and their ridiculous schemes. Whether it be when they're trying to kill me or trying to recruit me."

"They were more concerned with killing me at the time," Castiel reminds him.

"You were a dangerous criminal," Gabriel says, lifting a hand long enough to ruffle Castiel's already messy hair.

He laughs at Castiel’s unimpressed glare.

"But, hey, dad hasn't come back, hasn't shown up. Even though we did technically hit the big 'ol reset button on the apocalypse. I think there's something we're supposed to be doing, or _they're_ supposed to be doing."

"You think you know what he wants?" Sam asks.

Castiel frowns, like maybe it hurts to try and imagine the mind of God. But Gabriel just makes an intrigued noise, stretches his legs out a little.

"I think he wants us to evolve," Gabriel says quietly. He sounds half bemused and half entertained.

"Can you even do that?" Sam asks over the back of the seat. "I thought you were like eternal and unchangeable."

"I think I'm pretty much proof that we're not unchangeable, Sam," Gabriel reminds him through a grin

"But they wanted you to stay right?" Dean asks.

"Oh yes, and believe me I've never heard as many backhanded 'I'm sorry we tried to kill you' apologies in my life. Closely followed by the guilt. The guys upstairs know a million ways to try and guilt you into things. And when you drop the flesh you can actually feel that. It's nasty. Seriously, you think Cas has personal space issues, try being made entirely of power and light and sparkles. Brings a whole new meaning to the term 'inappropriate touching.'"

Gabriel lifts a hand and makes some sort of complicated gesture with it. Then gives up, as if hands are insufficient for this flavour of show and tell.

Dean really doesn't like the sound of that though.

"It's more like sharing," Castiel offers.

"I don't share," Gabriel says flatly.

It's Castiel's turn to raise an eyebrow. Then pointedly look at Sam and Dean.

Gabriel sighs loudly.

"Oh alright, sometimes I share. But not with upstart Archangels and their lackeys."

"What the hell?" Dean demands.

"Oh believe me, I put Raguel on his metaphysical ass for getting a little too friendly."

"Did we meet him?" Sam asks.

"Yes," Castiel supplies.

Gabriel waves a hand out. "That was the pompous, officious one that had the vessel that look like it was about to die of consumption. Honestly, I was out of my vessel ten minutes, not even time to get used to not having fingers. He deserved it."

"You're an Archangel with pagan god reflexes. It's an interesting combination," Castiel says.

"You say 'interesting' like it's a bad thing, Cas. Also, I think you mean _special._ " Gabriel drawls out the word like it's something dirty.

"Yes," Castiel says firmly. "That too."

The next time Dean looks in the mirror Castiel is folded over, one of Gabriel's hands wrapped round the back of his neck. Gabriel' laughing quietly into his mouth and Castiel is taking every quiet murmur, hand sliding up Gabriel's throat to rest in his hair.

Castiel draws away slowly, mouth still wet and Dean really is going to crash the goddamn car if he doesn't look at the road now.

"But you got back ok?"

"We were persistent about our refusal to stay," Castiel says firmly. Like there's a whole story under there.

Gabriel makes a low sound of approval.

"You're hot when you're a badass you know, skin or no skin."

Castiel accepts the compliment with a smile that Dean suspects he learned off the Archangel. Dean kind of knows how much of a stubborn son of a bitch Castiel can be. He thinks he's definitely going to press for details later.

"They never tried to stop us. Though there was a sweaty-palmed sort of desperation there towards the end. A thousand last minute things to do. Really, angels never learned subtlety, it's just embarrassing."

"We agreed to return to help if we were not too busy." Castiel manages to make that sound way more amusing than it probably was. Dean thinks all that fantastic sarcasm they've been teaching Cas is completely wasted on the angels. Who just don't get it.

"And if they ask nicely," Gabriel adds. And they all know how good the angels are at that.

They stop for gas at just gone ten.

Gabriel doesn't move from Castiel's lap. Sam goes on a quest for snacks while Dean fills her up. The whole world still feels quiet. Only this is a relaxed sort of quiet. A quiet without tension. Not being hunted, not being chased, it takes some getting used to.

Sam's giant arms look like they've stolen everything the store has. He slides back into the passenger seat and shoves most of it in his bag, before reaching over the back and dropping a bag of M&Ms on Gabriel's stomach.

Gabriel points a finger at him.

"You're my favourite."

It takes him four miles to eat them all. A quick, wet crunch of candy, with the occasional raised arm to slip a green one into Castiel's mouth. Castiel never once protests. Though he does spend a long minute distracted when Gabriel slithers upright and kisses him when they pass a field full of cornflowers.

"So, this sharing thing," Sam asks curiously. Dean recognises his interested research voice a mile away. "Could we do that with you."

Castiel looks up head tilting slowly to the side.

"With me, perhaps, if I was very careful and you did exactly as I told you."

Castiel stops as if he's unsure what to say next.

"Gabriel would..."

"I'd vaporize you," Gabriel says, staring at the ceiling of the car. "I'd fry you both like eggs on the side of a nuclear reactor."

"Nice visual," Dean offers into the mirror.

"I thought you'd appreciate that."

Sam makes a quiet noise, like maybe he regrets bringing it up. Like sometimes he forgets that they're not the same species.

"But you're our favourite species," Gabriel insists, actually proving Dean right for once. Either that or he's developing creepy mind-reading powers of his own. God, he hopes not. Two people being party to his hot girl fantasies are bad enough. And honestly, the fact that he still has hot girl fantasies kind of makes him feel like a traitor.

"I make a really hot girl," Gabriel supplies. Like they formed some consensus about how just blurting out people's thoughts was ok.

Dean looks in the mirror, but all he can see is the curve of Gabriel's knee and half of Castiel's face.

"Also, it triples the amount of sexual positions I can get away with."

Dean swivels round, far enough to shoot Gabriel a look.

"Really?"

Sam sighs, boot knocking on the door.

"Dean, watch the road or you'll crash into something."

"I will not crash into something," Dean protests, swerving for a pot hole, of all things, a fucking pot hole. "Christ, I thought the whole 'pretending to be someone else' was just surface paint."

"Ha," Gabriel says sharply, like he finds Dean amusing. "Castiel's body used to be human. He's pretty much locked in this pretty face you see right here." Gabriel lifts a hand and smacks Castiel's cheek sharply. "I'm an Archangel, I can wear whatever I like."

There's a filthy chuckle.

"Ask Sam."

Sam clears his throat in a way that completely fails to sound innocent.

Dean shoots him a glare when he completely refuses to refute anything

"Dude, you banged him as a girl and didn't tell me?"

"It was a spur of the moment sort of thing. You were out checking the EMF in that creepy red brick house and he was messing with maid service in that big hotel."

"Sam." He really doesn't mean that to sound so much like a whiny accusation.

"It's not like you haven't had sex with thousands of girls Dean."

Dean shoots him a look that says 'thousands, really?' When something occurs to him.

"Cas has never had sex with a girl."

Gabriel tilts his head back to look up. Castiel looks back at him curiously. Judging by the exchange of smiles from Gabriel and exasperated looks from Castiel they're having a silent conversation.

And then Gabriel grins up at him, all teeth and lechery.

"Oh. little bro, we can't be having that."

Dean looks in the mirror at where Gabriel now has Castiel's fingers tangled through his own, smirk gone vicious and wicked on his face. Dean has no excuse, none, for the reaction he has to that.

"The next motel we see I'm stopping," he says roughly.

"Dean it's only half ten in the morning," Sam says sensibly.

"Your point?"

Sam waves an arm desperately.

"Alright, fine, I have no point."

  
~~~~~

  
They spend 90% of Thursday 8th July in bed.

Dean wonders, in a vague sort of way, if they're going to need some sort of twelve step program.

  
~~~~~

  
Dean's in the bathroom, perched on the edge of the bath, fishing through the first aid tin for a needle, one that won't fuck his back all to hell. Because the cut's not that deep, there's no muscle showing. Nothing he hasn't done after a hunt a thousand times. Some of the monsters hanging around had managed to slip straight out of hell, snacking on people like they candy, they'll be better prepared next time.

Sam had gotten off better, though Dean thinks the side of his face is going to be a nasty shade of purple tomorrow.

When he very carefully starts to slide his coat off he's not expecting the hands that slide under the collar and help him ease it down. Too small to be Cas's.

His coat ends up in the bath.

"Did you have fun upstairs," he asks.

"Oodles," Gabriel drawls. Which Dean is going to take to mean 'hell no.'

"Where's Cas?"

"Talking to Sam, he brought him books. So it's turned into a huge nerdgasm out there," Gabriel says.

Dean grunts and very carefully peels his shirt off, the half-dried tug of cloth and skin making him wince.

Gabriel makes a noise like he disapproves of whatever mess has become of Dean's back.

"What did you do, Winchester?" His voice is quieter than usual.

"Some dirty flying thing try to pick me up. I convinced it that would be a bad idea."

"Hmm, and how did you do that?" Gabriel asks.

"I shot one of its feet off."

Gabriel laughs, smooth and unsurprised.

"Classy."

There's the soft press of fingers into his shoulder.

"I could just fix this you know," Gabriel says.

Dean bites the thread at the right length, then drags it through the needle.

"You could," he says, and makes sure there's a warning in his tone.

Dean stares into the mirror again, realises this is going to be near impossible for him to do by himself. The bright line of it still obscured by blood, and too close to the bend of his shoulder blade. The skin will shift and stretch every time he moves.

He takes a breath and then holds out the needle to Gabriel.

Who eyes it in disgust like there's not a chance in hell.

"Dean -" he protests, stiff and unhappy.

"Will you just stitch it."

Because this fucking _means_ something. They're not toys to be played with, to be put back together whenever they break. This is what their life is. You live being careful of the consequences, because of the pain, the sprains and the breaks, or you don't live at all. If Gabriel doesn't _get_ that, if he can't accept that, then they're going to have more problems than trying to share a bed between four people.

Gabriel glares at him and takes the needle, pushes gently but wordlessly on Dean's shoulder until he's bent slightly into the sink.

The first sharp dig of the needle is slow and unhappy. But Gabriel's stitches are small, angry and precise.

"You realise this is like taking a Monet to an art restorer and then demanding he fix it with duct tape and staples, right?"

"You know if we don't compromise this thing is never going to work," Dean says flatly. Because they can't just pretend forever. That there isn't a fucking huge power imbalance here. They can't ignore it. They can't pretend it isn't there.

The bathroom's heavy with quiet.

"You're prepared to meet us halfway then," Gabriel says stiffly. "The next time we want something you don't like the sound of."

Dean grunts. "Yeah,"

Gabriel makes a rude noise through his nose.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about."

"No, but I trust you, you and Cas, to not want anything that could fuck us up."

Gabriel's hand stills. Like he didn't expect that.

"You have to trust us to know what we're doing too," Dean adds.

"In wanting to be pieced together like a broken vase." A thumb gently trails the skin of his back, faintly slippery under the blood.

"Gabriel -"

"No, you don't get the moral high ground here. I'm the fucking angel who's currently stitching your skin back together. It's completely unnecessary when you know what I'm capable of.

"Not for shit like this though." Dean gestures at his shoulder in the mirror. Because it's just a cut, not even half a dozen stitches. It's not going to put him out of action, it's not going to keep him up a night.

"Shit like this is where it starts," Gabriel says stiffly.

"Well then it's a good job we have you to continually bitch at us about it."

Gabriel sticks him for that. He fucking _knows_ it. Dean hisses and glares in the mirror at him.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

There's the faint snap of thread and Gabriel hands the needle over Dean's shoulder.

Dean catches his wrist instead, hauls him back round so he can see him. Though the angel's still stiff and unyielding. A petulant and slow simmering anger at the stark, breakable humanity of him.

It's weird how familiar Gabriel is to Dean now. The way they went from separate to...to this. They fit better than he could have ever believed. All their broken pieces slamming together just right, insecurity against arrogance, pride against vulnerability, and stubbornness against a willingness to bend.

Part of Dean wants to keep them all here, in motel rooms. Where, for some crazy reason, they're just right. Where it all makes sense. To not take this thing out into the light, into the world and make it real. Because the world has been fucking him over since he could walk. It's always taken perverse joy in smashing apart everything he's ever had.

"I know something about bad habits. I'm not keen on starting any more."

Gabriel's eyebrow goes up in one sharp movement.

"Oh Dean, there isn't enough time in the world to tell you about all the bad habits I've picked up."

Dean grunts.

"I like your bad habits."

The eyebrow goes up higher.

"I like _some_ of your bad habits," Dean concedes.

Gabriel still looks undecided. If he'd been a girl Dean would have tugged him down into his lap and played his favourite game of distraction.

He doesn't have the first idea what you're supposed to do with another man. He's been pretty much winging this since day one. Never entirely sure what he's doing, just certain that he's going to dig his heels in and keep it this time. But he figures if he's having one of the most unconventional relationships in the history of mankind he can break a few rules.

So fuck it. He tugs Gabriel down until he's in his lap, making grumbling noises and heavy in all the wrong places. But Dean shuts him up pretty quickly, hands turning his head until he can crush Gabriel's mouth with him own. The protest turns into a long exhale that's warm against his cheek.

Sharp fingers end up dug into the back of his neck and Gabriel's kissing back, hard enough to tell Dean exactly which one of them needs to restrain their enthusiasm.

"You are so irritatingly, annoyingly human," Gabriel hisses against his mouth. There's a weight of _something_ behind the words, something like frustration and desperation. Something confused and sharp.

It makes Dean tighten his grip and grunt agreement.

Gabriel eventually huffs something irritated and slides off of his lap.

"Way to make me feel like a girl."

Dean feels like pointing out that he is the smallest. Though, judging by the super bitchface he gets Gabriel heard it anyway. He's been hanging around Sam too much, because it looks a lot like his.

By the time Dean shoves the first aid kit back together Gabriel's gone.

He pulls his shirt back on, stitches warning him not to stretch too far. He'll have to either stitch up the shirt too or throw it out. Usually their jackets take the brunt of all the damage. But Dean hadn't realised how sharp those damn flying monstrosities claws were going to be.

There's pizza when he gets out of the bathroom, Sam's already halfway through one of the boxes where he's sat on the bed, boots kicked off. One hand is eating and one hand is tapping the keys on his laptop. Gabriel's sprawled out next to him.

Sam's face is missing the stark redness that was there when they got back. Which suggests one of the angels took care of it. Castiel probably, because Dean thinks maybe Gabriel understands more than him. Though whether Gabriel would have been able to look at that stark reminder of how fucking breakable Sam was - hell maybe it was Gabriel. He's almost as protective of Sam as Dean is.

Castiel is peering into the other box like he objects to the smell of tomatoes and melted cheese.

Dean shoves his boots off and carefully sits back against the headboard with them. Castiel offers him the box. Dean pulls out two pieces and turns one of them and offers it to the angel.

Castiel frowns, pointedly.

"Come on, dude, contrary to popular belief your body is not a temple."

"I don't need to eat," he reminds him, again. In that slow, firm way. Dean's starting to think that's his one excuse.

"You don't need to have sex either," Gabriel points out. "But I haven't heard you objecting to that yet."

Castiel sighs with a sort of long suffering resignation and reaches out, gets a handful of cheese and oil and tomato sauce.

"There you go," Dean feels like a proud parent, he really does. Even though that analogy is maybe a little bit wrong considering.

They all watch Castiel eat, which he seems to find irritating, but it's only fair, since he has a tendency to watch them sleep. Like the little creeper he is.

Gabriel snorts laughter and Castiel scowls at him.

"Sirens," Sam says suddenly.

"Huh?" Dean offers.

"There have been a lot of boats wrecked off shore." Sam swivels the laptop round. "I think maybe it could be sirens."

"Too far east," Dean says around a mouthful of pizza. "Anything closer?"

Sam clicks through his bookmarks.

"Apparently a giant hole opened in the ground in Sedona?"

"A giant hole?" Dean asks dubiously.

Sam nods.

"Too early to tell if anything's come out of it yet. But I'm thinking giant holes opening up after the apocalypse probably isn't a good thing."

"Are giant holes opening up at any time a good thing?" Dean wonders.

"There's also some cattle mutilations on the way -"

"Aliens," Gabriel offers and steals the piece of pizza Sam's waving about as a demonstration.

" - but I don't know if stopping to look at them is wise if the big giant hole turns out to be the demonic equivalent of an active volcano."

Dean grunts.

"I guess it's not just our decision any more. I think Gabriel and Cas get votes now too," he says, before digging in the box for another piece. "If they plan on sticking around."

"It would be hard to watch you sleep if I didn't," Castiel says carefully.

Dean shoves a hand in Castiel's hair and pushes it all the wrong way.

"Like you don't know we think you're awesome by now."

Castiel very carefully finds another piece of pizza lifts it, like he's mortally afraid it will drip sauce all over his trench coat. Which made it through the damn apocalypse just fine.

"I believe that exploring this sudden hole in the earth would be wise," he says.

"Agreed," Gabriel says. "Creepy hole in the ground it is." He pushes Sam's laptop shut and slides it off the bed before claiming most of its space in Sam's lap with one lazy sprawl.

Sam doesn't object.

"How many times have I told you to take your coat off before we eat?" Dean tells Castiel.

Castiel stops halfway through his slice of pizza.

Dean takes it from him while he slips his coat and jacket off and lays them over their bags, before moving back to sit next to Sam. Dean decides laziness trumps manliness once again. He leans back and Castiel takes his weight like its nothing. All warmth and crisp fabric.

"So we'll leave before eight tomorrow, we should get there just before lunch."

"Can I drive?" Gabriel asks. With all the wilful recklessness of someone who doesn't expect him to say yes.

Dean digs out another piece of pizza.

"I'll think about it."

  
~~~~~

  
The giant hole in the ground turns out to be just that.

Though the Grand Canyon is too close and too tempting not to visit.

It's pretty awesome.

  
~~~~~

  
There's a phone ringing somewhere far away.

Or maybe it's close, Sam can't really tell, he's mashed into the warm skin of someone's arm and someone heavy is laying on his back.

"Your phone," Dean mumbles somewhere near his hair.

"Not it," Castiel says from somewhere behind Dean. They have _definitely_ been a bad influence on him.

"I don't know anyone," Sam says, or thinks he says. There's a chance it just comes out as random noise. He's laying on Gabriel, he knows as much because he smells faintly of chocolate.

"Your phone," Dean says again.

Which is true, because Dean's phone was smashed to pieces when that angry ghost lumberjack hit it with an axe.

Sam protests via the medium of random noises.

"Gabriel, answer the phone," he mutters.

The body he's laying on grunts.

"What am I your secretary?"

The bed jiggles and there's a muted click.

"Winchesters den of iniquity, how may I direct your call?"

Dean snorts amusement into Sam's back. Sam thinks maybe he's going to regret that. He tips his head back and finds the amused curve of Gabriel's mouth and the silver glint of his own phone.

Gabriel tips the phone away so he can speak.

"Apparently saving the world from an apocalypse is not an excuse for self-indulgent angelic orgies and you have to get your asses out of bed and hunt some monsters."

"Tell Bobby we've been killing monsters in-between the self-indulgent angelic orgies," Dean mumbles.

The bearded displeasure is audible even half a foot away and buried in pillows.

"I do believe Bobby heard that," Castiel supplies.

"How do we feel about hell harpies?" Gabriel asks after a pause.

"I couldn't eat a whole one," Dean decides.

Sam laughs despite himself, presses his face into Gabriel's skin to muffle the sound.

"The Winchesters have decided they would like to kill some hell harpies today," Gabriel tells Bobby.

There's a pause, during which Gabriel's face goes through several flavours of amusement.

"Bobby is so sarcastically glad about that. Also, you're idiots."

"Idjits," Dean, Sam and Castiel correct automatically.


End file.
